Deceitful Flames
by DTBlackMuffinWooz
Summary: A teen girl sets out to unveil the criminal arsonist who murdered her parents, but is faces with a series of clues along the way. What will her story hold?


I open my eyes, my body still clammy, and my heart still pounding from the dream. Ever since my parents died in an unnatural fire, I have been searching for the cause. I believe it was no accident. In every dream I see the house. And after it burns out, a blurry object is getting clearer and clearer. It is a key. I know it is a key, and tonight, I will find it.

I wait until midnight, and then set out, it is the time of night when everyone is in their house, and I can draw the least amount of attention to myself. I open the front door of my new apartment, and set out.

I stand outside of the remains if the burnt, destroyed, ruins of what I once knew as a safe place, a home. I duck under the bright yellow caution tape, which contrasts agains the jet black ash of the house, and seems to almost glow in the polluted light. As I walk I'm, I am bombarded by the memories. I can smell the faint tangerine perfume my mother used to wear, and see the polished floors my dad was never happy with, no matter how much they sparkled. I will not let a tear slip, tonight, I mean business.

I look around the living room, a ceiling fan hanging at an angle catches my eye. The sockets pulled half out of the wall. If I disturbed it, or pulled at it, the roof may come crashing down. I would rather not take my chances.

There is only one thing I have in mind, the key. I have a strange feeling that If I find it, then I will know who did this. But I am not thinking rational. I pull up the sofa cushions, coughing and fanning at the dust that rises with them. And to my surprise, there is a black glove. Not black because if the ash, but because it is simply black leather. There is not a scratch, or even a spot of dirt on it. All that I can see, is a number embroidered in the middle. '1.' What could this mean? I search the house for a match, but it is nowhere to be found. I put on the glove, not knowing what to expect, and to my surprise, there is a key-chain, with the same number hanging from it. Now I am curious.

I go upstairs to see what else I can find, and the only thing that comes to my attention, is that I made a horrible mistake. This house is not strong enough to have the weight of a person on the top floor, and I now know the reason for the caution tape. The floor cracks beneath me. I take another step, fatal action. A chunk of the ceiling falls down, and doesn't fail to take me with it.

Covered in ash, I lay on the living room carpet once more. I blink, only to realise that the ceiling fan is no longer there. I must have taken it down when the ceiling fell. I get up, brush off the ash and look at the broken fan, laying on the floor. I flip it over, and there, taped to one of the propellers, is a key. It is the exact one from my dreams.

I have found what I was looking for, but my mission is not yet accomplished. When I get home, I put both clues in their own plastic Zip-Lock bag, each with writing on then explaining where and how they were found.

After putting them in a safe place, I shower off the ash, and am unable to get to sleep, so I click on the tv. I am surprised to see that only yesterday, a house two streets down from my parents had been set alight. I keep watching while the woman talks about a clue they find at the crime scene. I am fascinated as they are showing a small lock box, with the number '2' on the top in bold. This was all I needed to hear. I drive down to the police station, my hair still wet, and uncombed, to retrieve the lockbox. In my purse, I have my clues, and the key I am sure will fit into it. I tell the police my story, and surprisingly, they hand me the lockbox saying 'If the key fits, it is yours.' I am surprised they haven't arrested me, but I'm not going to question this. I thrust the key into the keyhole of the lockbox, turn it, and it fits like a glove, no pun intended. I open the box and gasp in disbelief.

TO BE CONTINUED...


End file.
